


A Battle of Wits

by Firefly1993



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-03-10 07:43:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3282422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firefly1993/pseuds/Firefly1993
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My first /Reader fic ever!<br/>How will Sherlock take to having America's own Consulting Detective living in the same building? One draw back, she is a real cop, and an American of all things!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys just a little break for my Hobbit works, don't worry I'm still working on Hobbit and his monsters just felt like i needed to get this puppy rolling. Short chapters which is a bit out of my comfort zone but every new journey starts with the first step right? Enjoy! Comment and Kudos are more then welcome if you have questions i have answers.

The clouds were grey, threatening you with rain. The wind whipped past in a strong gust. You wiped your nose with your sleeve, again. By now your nose was red and raw from the constant wiping.

“Go to London’ Chief said, ‘help them with a few of these cases’ he said.’ It will be like a vacation he said’” you told yourself feeling a growing need to go back to America and punch your police chief in the throat.

You walk the winding streets of London taking in as much as you can, the city has, yet hasn’t changed much since you were small. You look at your phone screen, trying your damnedest to find Scotland Yard, currently the GPS says you are standing in the middle of the ocean a hundred miles off the coast of Ireland. . .

“Sorry Chief, I’m not sure how my phone ended up at the bottom of the Atlantic” you told yourself setting up an alibi for your soon to be missing phone.

You sigh and shove your phone back into the pocket of your favorite navy pea coat, the black one with the hood. You love the color black it makes you look slimmer, even though you were in top physical condition. You walk along with your worn out duffle bag thrown over your shoulder, it was your father’s when he was just a recruit in the NY Police Academy. It has been around all your life, dad would even make the joke about him carrying you home from the hospital in it! You turned a corner still in deep thoughts of nostalgia when you ran into a man. His hand shot out of his pocket to catch you before you lost your balance.

“Oh sorry Miss!” he said wide eyed. He pocketed his phone and gave you a once over making sure he didn’t harm you.

“It’s okay, no harm done, you’re fine. Actually could you help me?” you say dusting off your coat.

The man blinks at you before reaching into his jacket and pulling out a badge.

“Chief Inspector Greg Lestrade, how can I help you Miss?” he introduces himself.

“Oh thank god! Another cop, Detective (F/n), Hudson!” you say feeling the day’s grief being lifted off your shoulders.

You lift your coat to show Lestrade your own NYPD badge clipped too your belt.

“Oh! America’s own Sherlock!”

 _‘America’s own what?’_ you ask yourself mentally shrugging.

You shake the inspectors hand and begin to break him down.

‘ _No ring, reeks of expensive cologne, single. Middle aged late thirty’s, early forty’s. Clothes are simple yet in style and his shoes are pretty casual yet capable for running. Hair is not its actual color forgot to wash the dye off his ears. Watch on his wrist is old and he has tan lines from wearing it all the time, must have some kind of sentimental value. No pet hair on his pants so he must work too much to have time to look after a pet’_

You come out of your Mind Fortress and realize Lestrade has been talking the entire time.

“So, Detective how long have you been in London?”

 _‘Wow, really dude? I still have my bag for fucks sake!’_ you tell yourself.

A flash back of Chief telling you to ‘NOT start another Revolutionary war with your fucking mouth!’ comes back, and you decide not to be a smartass.

“Not long, I was on my way to see you guys and get an update on your progress and then head to my Aunts. I’ll be staying with her till this mess is cleaned up” you say with a matter-of-fact tone.

Lestrade smiles and gestures with his hand back the way you came.

“Well then let’s get you started, the Yard is back this way”

*  *  *

Scotland Yard was bustling on the inside, phones rang, people chatted to each other and the sounds of papers being shuffled bounced off the walls.

 _‘Like I never left New York’_ you think as you follow Lestrade to his office.

Greg opened the door and held it open for you, once inside he shut the door, effectively silencing the outside noise.

“Okay, so here’s what we have gathered over the past few months,” he said handing you a file.

You take the file and open it in your lap and scan over its contents, three random suicides, same drug was used during all three.

_'Interesting,'_

“So, you have a bit of an accent in that mouth of yours Detective” Lestrade said while he looked down at you while leaning on his desk. You close the file and look at Lestrade giving him an ‘are you serious?’ face.

_‘Pupils dilated, posture changed to crossing his arms over his chest to show off his shoulders and pecks, giving me that ‘hey girl how you doin’ smile’. Oh fuck he finds me attractive!’_

You clear your throat and try to ignore the hole he is burning into your skull with his gaze.

“Well my dad was British, my mother was Scot/Irish, and my aunt I mentioned earlier is my father’s sister” you say trying to focus on the file.

So far you know the file belongs to an M .Holmes. You open the file again and try to access your Mind Fortress again before he starts talking again.

“So what can you tell me about yourself?”

_‘God bless America, I’m never gonna figure out what is in this bleeding file!’_

You stand and give Lestrade a sweet smile, while you imagine yourself stabbing him with a pen.

“Well Inspector if this is all I need I’ll be out of your way. You must be a busy man and I need to get some rest,” you say while stepping toward the door.

“If you don’t mind Detective (L/n), I’ll will be more than happy to give you a lift to your Aunts”

 _‘Must not beat him with desk chair, must not beat him with desk chair’_ you tell yourself.

But then you stop and think. You have walked half of London today, you’re tired and that’s why you are so snappy.

_'He may be trying to hard, but the jet lag and frustration is working hard on you. Just get a ride from him and everything should handle itself'_

Maybe a ride won’t be so bad.

“Sure, if it’s not too much trouble”

“Not at all, my car is out front. Where does your Aunt live?”

“221B Baker Street”

The next few minutes you spent trying to figure out why the hell Lestrade was doubled over laughing till he was blue in the face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You finally meet Sherlock Holmes and its quite the shock.

The ride to Baker Street mostly filled with Greg’s attempts to get you to go to dinner with him, your thoughts however are engrossed with memorizing the streets of London.

While you watch the many street signs pass by something goes by that sends a painful ping through you. It was an old run down looking building, boards are placed over the windows, there’s graffiti all over the walls.

_‘That’s the burger place Dad took me to when we came to London for summer vacation. It always smelled of grease and salt. Dad would always get us ice cream afterward, but only if I finished all my fries. He would laugh when I got ice cream on my nose, Dad was always-‘_

Somewhere deep in your Mind Fortress you hear the sound of a heavy metal door slamming, you know what it was, it was your inner self slamming the door that lead to your memories of your Dad and the burger place. You shake your head and hope Greg didn’t see the tears gathering in your eyes.

“Here we go, so, would you be interested in going to dinner with me?” Greg says he must have mentioned dinner while you were in your Fortress suppressing painful memories.

  
“Uh maybe some other time Inspector” you decline politely.

You get out of the car and the soothing sounds of a violin playing meet your ears as you step onto the curb.

“That would be Sherlock, he is the guy you will be working with” Greg says through a poorly hidden snicker.

You grab your bag out of the trunk and head for the door of 221B.

“Good luck,” Greg says from the car before speeding off.

You ascend the steps of the flat and knock on the door, the violin playing stops for just a moment before starting up again.

You wait a moment before the door is swung up and you smile at the person.

Martha Hudson, your father’s sister, stares at you for only a moment before placing a hand over her mouth to hide her gasp.

“Surprise” you say before smiling at her.

She is silent for a moment longer before she starts jumping up and down screaming with delight.

Your Auntie, throws her arms around your neck and hugs you tightly, she is the only living relative you have left. You hug her back just as tight, you have not seen her since your father’s funeral. Now six months later, you are seeing her again since that miserable day.

“Oh bless me! (F/N)? Oh sweet heart, what are you doing here?” she says grabbing a hold of your shoulders and taking in a good look at you.

“Well someone over on this side of the world asked for New York’s best, New York sent me” you say letting a smug grin spread over your face.

“Well they indeed sent the best, come, come in” she says beckoning you into the flat.

“How long will you be with us dearie?” she asks while you take a seat in her comfortable flat’s kitchen.

“Awhile, depending on how long it takes me to solve these cases,” you say.

_‘So far she hasn’t brought up dad, maybe this won’t be so bad’_

“As always sharp as a tack, just like your father, god rest him”

_‘Fuck,’_

“Yeah that’s me,” you say awkwardly trying hard to hold the steel door closed in your mind.

“Tea dearie?” Auntie asks.

“Coffee is more my drink now, if you have it of course”

“Of course Poo-bear” she says going back to her cooking.

Your inner self shudders before she hauls ass to the deepest darkest part of your mind, past your fears, past the painful memories. Down, down, down she goes until there is only her and a door. The only thing illuminating the darkness of the stone hallway was a glowing red sign above the door. The sign read ‘Poo-Bear’.

You had seen gruesome murders, put away the scum of the earth, you had caught rapists, serial killers, potential terrorists. But God forbid, any of those bastards, or anyone at the precinct found out about the most embarrassing childhood pet name that ever crawled out from the void. God help you if they ever found out about 'Poo-Bear'.

“Auntie don’t you think I’m too old to be called that?” you ask in hopes that she will give up on the ridiculous name.

“Nonsense dearie” she says waving off the suggestion.

You slump in your chair as Auntie goes into her living room to fetch something.

You sit in silence for only a few moments before she returns and places a scrap book in front of you.

“Have a look at this dearie and I’ll fix you something to eat, you must be hungry”

“I don’t want to impose,” you say but she gives you a strong look, you had forgotten that, hungry or not, you were going to be fed whenever you came to Auntie Martha’s.

You eye the old book before opening it, inside there are newspaper clippings of old cases you solved.

**‘Serial Rapist Caught!’**

**‘Detective Hudson does it again!’**

**‘NYPD’s Best Can’t Be Stopped!’**

“I get the New York Times just to see you,” she says still facing her work on the cutting board.

You feel your chest constrict, you’re not used to people going out of their way for you. Most of the others at the precinct think you are an over-archiver. Needless to say you are not well liked back home, but at least there was Auntie.

“This is, thank you,” you say as your aunt shuffles about the kitchen.

With the violin still playing upstairs, you feel genuinely at ease.

After looking through the book some more, Auntie finally places a tray in front of you.

_‘Holy shit’_

On the tray sits, your coffee in a freshly brewed pot, blueberry biscuits with honey, cookies, and tuna fish finger sandwiches!

_‘Jesus, the police fitness exam is next month!’_

“Auntie this is too much,”

“Oh nonsense, I was about to take up Sherlock and John’s tea when you came”

“Who is Sherlock anyway, Inspector Lestrade mentioned I would be working with him while I’m here,” You tell her trying to get some information.

“Oh he lives upstairs, with his boyfriend John, he does some police work as well” she says.

“Oh,”

_‘That was not very helpful at all,’_

You start to tuck into your meal as Auntie Martha takes her seat across from you. You both chat and catch up, at all times you are on high alert to avoid anything that would trigger a conversation about your father, there was a time and place for that and now was not it. In fact, there may never be a right time and place.  
At some point the violin was silenced and muffled yelling replaced it.

You sip your hot coffee and try to listen.

One voice is a deep baritone, almost haunting but in the best ways. The other was well, not so much.

Then came muffled yelling.

Then gunshots.

You jump up sputtering your hot coffee all over your lap.

“What the actual fuck?!” you shout.

Next thing you know the old wooden spoon that haunted your nightmares came out of nowhere and smacked your elbow.  
“Poo-bear language!”

* * *

Climbing up the stairs to the upper most flat the yelling became louder and more coherent.

  
“Sherlock you cannot just shoot the bloody wall whenever you are bored!”

_‘Must be John,'_

You stop at the closed door and listen some more.

“A case John! Find me a case!”

_‘That, has to be Sherlock, sounds like an absolute joy to work with. Can’t fucking wait,’_

You knock on the door and the shouting stops.

The door opens to reveal a short man with a cane.

“Yes can I help you?” he asks.

_‘Polite, he is well dressed, might have a date tonight, totally not gay. Wearing pretty expensive cologne’_

“Hello, my name is (F/N) Hudson, I’m Martha Hudson’s niece,” you say.

“Oh, well hello nice to meet you, I’m John Watson” he says reaching out to shake your hand.

_‘John’s face is tan. But his wrist is not, his posture and haircut scream military, big eyes, small hands military doctor obviously. Has been overseas, carries a cane, he must have been shot in the leg, but he does not show signs of it hurting, no eye twitching, and no flaring nostrils. Most likely he was shot while serving and although his body has healed the shot must have been traumatizing.’_

Your inner self sits at the desk in the middle of your mind fortress writing down everything that that you broke down about John before filing it away in a room now labeled _‘John Watson’._

You shake John’s hand and smile at him before asking Afghanistan of Iraqi?

He stares at you for a number of seconds before shaking off the shock and answering Afghanistan.

“Ah, right a few of the boys from my precinct joined up shortly after the war started,” you say not missing a beat.

Your eyes leave a bewildered John to land on a tall man in a robe.

He was tall and lanky, he had charcoal curls, impressive cheek bones, and he looked impressed, yet upset at your presence. This had to be the one everyone calls Sherlock.

_‘Whoa, okay um. Tall, plays the violin, hot, no concentrate! Um tall? Oh fuck me he is hot! NO stop that, break him down! His name is Sherlock Holmes, saw his name in the-the thing with the stuff, oh fuck he is hot, NO! FOR GOD’S SAKE! BREAK HIM DOWN!’_

You close your eyes trying so hard to regain control over your own mind. Everything seems like its spinning, you swear you can smell smoke coming from your ears as your brain tries to work out this new thing called ‘Sherlock’.

_‘HOT, No stop it! Calm down, it’s only- HOT, HOT, HOT!! OH FOR FUCKS SAKE!!’_

“Stop!”

Shit was that last bit out loud?

You open your eyes and remove your hands for the sides of your head, when did you put them up there?

You look at where Sherlock stood, but now he is sitting in a leather chair. His eyes were wide and he had a hand covering his mouth, he his breathing a bit heavy and looks irritated.

“Did-did you just short circuit me?” you ask eyeing him up and down.

He looks at you, his icy stare burning into you like a red hot poker.

“Who are you? Mrs. Hudson never mentioned a niece” he said glaring at you.

“My name is Detective (F/N) Hudson, of the New York Police Department. I will be working with you on a few cases” you say moving to show them the badge and gun strapped to your belt.

“No”

“Sorry, but it is not up for discussion, my captain received a letter asking for the best he had. He sent me” you say not faltering.

“No” he said.

“John make her go away!” he said curling up in his chair now fully pouting.

“Sorry Sherlock but her orders are clear to me, I will not start a shit storm because you can’t play well with others” he said going over to his laptop.

You take this time to finally look over the file Lestrade gave to you.

_‘Three serial suicides,’_

You look over the file and the crime scene photo’s it holds. As you search you delve into your Mind Fortress, memorizing everything from the file. The victim’s names, their locations, they all used the same drug, why? What was the link that held them together other than that? They had no other connections accept the drug. What was the link?

“(F/N)?” you hear John say, his voice sounds so far away but everything always seems so when you are in your Fortress.

“Yes what?” you say looking up from your work.

John begins to ask you about the file on the three suicides.

Before you say anything a flash of blue catches your attention, you turn your head toward the window and stand slowly your back popping as you do. How long had you been sitting bent over reading? You look at your watch and it tells you four and a half hours have passed since you entered the boys’ flat.

“No” Sherlock says standing at a different window facing the street.

“Not three Mr. Watson,” you say as you look out to the street.

“There’s been a fourth” you both say in perfect unison.

This was going to be a long stay in London, you think as you slowly turn your gaze to the mystery that was Sherlock Holmes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PLOT TWIST!!  
> Sorry to you guys waiting for so long, had to finish the chapter and then type it out. School is giving me hell and all that, but look here's a thing!
> 
> Hey guys I just noticed a huge chunk of dialog missing from the story, i went and fixed it :P

_‘Victim One’s name was Sir Jeffery Patterson, was on his way home from a business trip, married but clearly having an affair with his secretary, wife is a possible suspect, his body was found on an abandoned floor of his office building,'_

 

Your inner self, write’s down everything you say, her pen does not leave the paper for more than half a second, the sound of her scratching away echoes through the halls of the deathly quiet fortress.

 

_‘The second victim was James Phillimore, a college kid that worked nights at a local mechanics to put himself through school. He was found at the community pool, bit ironic since he was just granted a swimming scholarship’_

 

You pace around the desk at the center of your mind fortress in deep thought, while your inner self records said thoughts for future reference. ‘The third victim was Beth Davenport, the local MP for Junior Minister of Transport, while at her birthday party she disappeared.

 

_‘Three victims that had never met before, had no connection other than the drug they took, what is the connection?’_

 

You stop pacing and sigh. Your inner self sighs as well but dreamily.

 

 _‘. . . What are you doing?’_ you ask her.

 

 _‘Sherlock has really pretty eyes,'_ she says.

 

You storm over to her and rip the paper she has been writing on away from her. You look over what should be detailed notes, but instead see a large extravagant heart drawn with yours and Sherlock’s names drawn inside. “Are you fucking serious?” you shout, you freeze when you realize that your outburst was aloud.

 

You feel your face heat up when you see John staring at you as if you have grown a second head.

 

“(F/N), you okay?” he asked. “Uh yeah just saw something, really disturbing,” you say, to be honest you were not lying.

 

You groan under your breath and close your eyes trying to attempt to reenter the Fortress.

 

You do so and approach your inner self.

 

 _‘Will you please concentrate? We have a case to work on for Christ sake’_ you say while rubbing your temples.

 

 _‘What? The notes are all over there; do not be mad that I am only revealing what you really want’_ she said with a coy smile as she leans back in the desk chair.

 

 _‘And what do I really want?’_ You ask as you lean against the desk facing away from her to hide the blush slowly creeping up your neck to dust your cheeks.

_‘You want him, you want Sherlock’_ she whispers in your ear.

 

“Shut up!”

 

Fuck! Again, that was a loud for all in the cab to hear.

 

You really needed to work on that. You inhale and rub your head, being near Sherlock was really screwing you up, you feel a headache coming on.

 

You sigh; maybe it was a mistake joining Sherlock and John. John wasn’t so bad, but Sherlock on the other hand, nope not going there.

 

* * *

 

_Back at 221B, the cop lights flash below, as Lestrade comes up the stairs taking two at a time._

 

_“Where?” You and Sherlock ask at the same time._

 

_The Detective shoots you both a quizzical look. You roll your eyes; you don’t have time for petty jealousy._

 

_“Greg!” you say snapping him out of whatever trance he was in._

 

_“Oh right, uh Brixton, Louristan Gardens” he said not taking his eyes off you._

 

_“What’s different about this one you would not have come to me if there wasn’t something different” Sherlock says looking from Lestrade to you clearly deriving a conclusion, about the painfully obvious attraction Lestrade felt for you._

 

_“What? Oh yeah, well you know how they never leave notes?”_

 

_“Yes,” you say beating Sherlock to the punch._

 

_“Well this one did,” You start to feel excitement drip into your body; this is what you lived for!_

 

_“Will you come?” Lestrade asked, clearly becoming desperate._

 

_“Who is on forensics?” Sherlock asked._

 

_“Anderson,“_

 

_“Anderson won’t work with me,” Sherlock said visibly growing irritated._

 

_“Ugh, Greg let me get my coat and I’ll join you in moment” you said, refusing to let Sherlock ruin this for you._

 

_Before you step toward Lestrade, a large hand comes out to hold you in place by your wrist._

 

_‘EEEEK, he is touching us! Take a picture!’_

 

_While your inner self is having a spasm. You look up at Sherlock; he is giving Lestrade a dangerous look._

 

_“Not in a police car, we will follow you shortly,” he said._

 

_Lestrade sighed and nodded in defeat._

 

_Once he was gone, Sherlock jumped around happy as could be._

 

_“Oh four serial suicides and now a note Oh it’s Christmas!”_

 

_For the thousandth time in the span of a few minutes, you roll your eyes and go back down to Aunties flat to retrieve your coat._

 

_While inside you heard Sherlock jolt down the stairs as fast as he could. You ignore him, until you feel eyes staring into your back._

 

_“What do you want?” you ask turning to face Sherlock._

 

_“Who are you?” he asked. “I’m pretty sure we had this discussion Mr. Holmes”_

 

_“You are not like the others, like Mrs. Hudson and John, I can’t read you like I can them,” he says crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame._

 

_‘So he short circuits to?’ Your inner self purrs._

 

_“I think that is for me to know and for your to find out Mr. Holmes” you say as to your start to walk past him._

 

_He reaches out and catches you again by your waist this time._

 

_“I will find out everything there is to know about you,” he promises._

 

_You look at him. His eyes are, indescribable. His skin is like cream, fair and unblemished. He is tall and lanky but not in a bad way at all. His lips are a delicious shade of pink.His hair is delightfully curly and black as ink._

 

_‘He’s beautiful, for the love of god and all the angles kiss him’ your inner self says._

 

_‘No’_

 

_Instead of kissing the handsome man, you stand on your tippy toes to whisper in his ear._

 

_“Then the Game is on”_

 

_You feel his hand grip your hip tighter as you sashay past him, to wait on the curb._

 

_* * *_

 

You step out of the cab and look around at the flashing blue lights illuminating the empty street. You go into Detective mode as you approach the police tape.

 

“Hello Freak, who’s this?” a woman says as the three of you approach her.

 

_‘Uh oh, high school memories flooding back! Battle Stations!’_

 

Your inner self yells as the iron door labeled _‘High School’_ swings open and all the hurtful things, and harsh words come flooding back in a wave.

 

Your inner self prepares for the onslaught by putting on a helmet and hiding under your desk.

 

“Well, I’m the person who came to do your job for you sunshine” you say not missing a beat.

 

The woman, Donavan her I.D says, puts her hand one your shoulder and stops you.

 

“Excuse me, who do you think you are?” You take you badge off your belt and show it to her.

 

“Detective Hudson of the NYPD, your boss of bosses called and asked if I could spare a minute and hop on a ten hour flight and come clean up your messes, because aside from the man standing next to me I am the smartest person on this street! Now if you don’t mind I need to get to work,” you say before slipping on your favorite fingerless gloves.

 

You march off leaving her in your wake.

 

Sherlock and John come to walk by your sides.

 

“That was uh-“John stammered.

 

“Sorry you both had to see that, I don’t like bullies and when she said ‘freak’ and that just set me off,”

 

 _‘Oh no shit!’_ Your inner self shouts as she mops up what is left of the wave of memories.

 

You all meet up with Lestrade in the abandoned building he is slipping into a crime scene suit.

 

“Where are we?” Sherlock asked.

 

Lestrade looked up and motioned upward with his head.

 

“Upstairs, I can give you two minutes,” he said.

 

“May need longer,” Sherlock said as the four of you traveled up the steps.

 

* * *

 

“Her name is Jennifer Wilson, if her credit cards are anything to go by,” Lestrade informs you.

 

Your inner self is already itching to get to work.

 

“How long has she been here?” you ask.

 

“Not long, some kids found her” he says.

 

You walk into a room where the body lays.

 

 _‘That’s a lot of pink’_ you inner self says.

 

You inhale and walk toward the body.

 

“Shut up” Sherlock says.

 

“I didn’t say anything,” Lestrade says in his defense.

 

“Both of you shut up” you say as you bend down to inspect the body.

 

_‘Pink for one thing, but everything she is wearing is designer. Her shoes and coat together are at least a two months’ rent, back home, she had a high salary job, possibly in the media’_

 

You look at her left hand and see that her manicured nails have almost been forced off.

 

You look at the floor to see the cause.

 

 _“Rache,”_ you say aloud.

 

You inspect the scratch more.

 

_‘Remember kiddo, when you’re at a crime scene not everything is as it seems’_

 

“I know dad” you say not realizing it was loud enough for all to hear.

 

 _‘Rache, German? Yeah, but, not what she is trying to say, hmm? Not Rache, maybe Rachel?’_ you think as your inner self writes it done.

 

You inspect her coat, its wet. You check her pockets and find a dry umbrella. Next, you check her coat under her collar, its wet too.

 

_‘She is not from here; it hasn’t rained since I got here,’_

 

You stand aside and give Sherlock his turn, he takes out a pocket magnifying glass and takes long looks at her jewelry and removed her wedding ring. As he looks, you notice the back of her panty hoes.

 

“Got anything?” Lestrade asks.

 

“Not much,” you and Sherlock say.

 

“She’s German,” some idiot says from the doorway.

 

"Like hell she is,” you say.

 

“She is not from around here though, she intended on only staying a night or so,” you say.

 

“Before returning home to Cardiff” Sherlock finishes.

 

“Obviously” you say.

 

“Okay if you two are going to be on the whole Detective psyche wavelength, you will need to include us,” John said from the sidelines.

 

You look at Sherlock and he looks back at you, could Greg and John not see what was clearly staring them in the face.

 

“Jennifer was in her late thirties, from her clothes and the ungodly amount of pink, I’m certain that her job must have been something to involve the media,” you start.

 

“She arrived in London from Cardiff intending to stay for one night, from the size of her suitcase,” Sherlock says before rushing around the room.

 

“Suitcase?” Lestrade asked clearly confused.

 

“Yes suitcase,” you say as you start to look around for the pink case.

 

Why pink? Well, honestly what other color would it be?

 

“She is married for at least ten years, but not happily, she had a string of lovers,” Sherlock continues.

 

“But none of them knew she was married because I take it she would always take her ring off?” you inquire.

 

Sherlock glares at you, and you only give him a playful smirk.

 

“Her wedding ring is at least ten years old; the rest of her jewelry had been regularly clean. Her ring has not,” Sherlock said.

 

“Hinting the state of her marriage,” You say.

 

“Yes, thank you” he says trying not to get pissed off.

 

“The inside of her ring is shinier than the outside, meaning the only polishing it got was when she was working it off her finger,” Sherlock finished.

 

“She doesn’t work with her hands that is a fifty dollar manicure, so why else would she take it off?”

 

You say before its Sherlock’s turn to cut you off.

 

He stands up and shoves you out of the way.

 

“Mother-“ you stammer as you catch yourself.

 

“Therefore she doesn’t have just one lover, she had many,” he says.

 

“It’s brilliant,” John said.

 

“Cardiff?” Lestrade asked.

 

“Oh my god it’s a regular Mr. Peabody and Sherman!” You groan.

 

“Her coat, look at her coat, its wet. She has been in heavy rain in the last few hours; it has not rained here since I got here! It is wet; against her collar, she turned it up against the rain. Meaning Sherlock?” You say pointing to him.

 

He catches the hint and picks up right where you left off.

 

“She recently came from Cardiff,” Sherlock started.

 

“But! What about her umbrella in her pocket? Why is it dry?” You ask after pushing Sherlock just as he did you.

 

“So she was in heavy rainfall but the wind was blowing hard, too hard for the umbrella, she couldn’t have traveled for more than two or three hours at most” you say.

 

Sherlock comes up behind you, puts a hand on your face, and shoves you out of the way. You land flat on your ass and glare daggers into his back.

 

“So where has there been rain and heavy winds within the said area of time? Cardiff” Sherlock says showing Lestrade his phone.

 

You stand up, grab his scarf, and rip him away from the others.

 

“So where is the fucking suitcase?” you say while holding Sherlock at bay.

 

“What case?” John asked.

 

“Her case, her suitcase. A chick like this has to have had a suitcase and a phone,” you say before Sherlock picks you up and throws you over his shoulder.

 

“Put. Me. Down”

 

“Sherlock there was no case, there never was one,” Lestrade said.

 

Sherlock looked at Lestrade for a long time before her dropped you like a bag of potatoes.

 

“Son of a-“

 

“What do you mean there is no case?” Sherlock asked.

 

“There’s no case, there never was,” he said.

 

Sherlock paused for only a moment before he went into a frenzy.

 

“She must have left it with the killer! Find it!” Sherlock shouted as he flew down the stairs.

 

 _‘Find out who Rachel is,’_ your inner self reminds you.

 

“Find Rachel!” Sherlock yells from downstairs.

 

“How did you know about a case?” Lestrade yelled from the banister.

 

Sherlock’s only response was ‘Pink!’ before he flew out the door.

 

Lestrade heaved a sigh before letting his arms drop by his sides.

 

“There’s no case, there never was,” he said giving up.

 

“I think I know what he is talking about,” you say standing up and dusting yourself off.

 

“There are little splash marks on the back of her right leg at the heel and calf but not her left, meaning it’s a small case, she must have left it with the killer while she was being brought here, but where is it now?” You ask them.

 

“Okay but what is he on about?” John asked.

 

“Walk with me boys, Sherlock and I are done here” You say before taking the stairs, as you pull your gloves on tighter and make to leave.

 

You walk next to John keeping in mind that his leg will slow him down and make him clumsy.

 

“So what is going on?” Lestrade asked.

 

 _‘Oh my god, can these people please try to keep up! Do we need to speak slower? Jesus!’_ Your inner self says.

 

“Sherlock is going to find the suitcase, Jennifer was driven here by the killer, and he found the case in the vehicle after he killed her. He panicked and tossed the case somewhere nearby. Sherlock went to go find it.” You explain.

 

“Oh,” Lestrade and John said.

 

“Okay well, put John in a cab, I need to run and think,” you say.

 

“Run?” John asks.

 

“Yes, run, free run, Parkour, it helps me think”

 

Before Lestrade could ask anymore mind-numbing questions, you take off down the street running at top speed.

 

You see a low hanging fire escape and jump your way to it.

 

You haul yourself over the railing, you combo your way up to the rooftop.

 

You sprint over the rooftop, jumping over skylights.

 

_‘A wolf in sheep’s clothing’_

 

The building is coming to a stop the next one is close enough for a tuck.

 

Your feet leave the ground; you tuck your body into a tight ball, once you land on the rooftop, you roll to disperse the force of the landing.

 

_‘Where were the victims when the killer chose them?’_

 

_‘Sir Jeffery, was on his way back to the office from a business trip, James Phillimore was on his way to a party but went home for an umbrella, Beth Davenport was shit face drunk according to her tox screening in the morgue, now Jennifer was coming from Cardiff for a night’_

 

_‘Who do we trust in a crowd?’_

 

You jump from the building and grab on to a gutter pipe, thanks to your padded gloves, you can climb the pipe easily.

 

You slow down and take a few deep breaths, sweat drips down your face.

 

 _‘Who hunts in the middle of a-‘_ Your thoughts are interrupted by your phone ringing, your groan and answer it.

 

“Hudson?” You answer.

 

“Detective (F/N) Hudson, a pleasure,” a man’s voice comes over the receiver.

 

“Who is this? I find it really creepy when a private number calls me in the middle of the night, and the person calling me knows my full name and occupation,” you say.

 

_‘No one could have followed us, too fast, may have been spotted when we were on the street’_

 

“Please come down from that rooftop, we have much to discuss, get into the car” the man said.

 

You looked down onto the street, sure enough, a black car pulls up and the driver gets out and looks up right at you.

 

“And if I don’t?” You ask.

 

A door opens behind you and two more men join you on the roof.

 

“Well, point taken jackass” You say before hanging up.

 

You shimmy down a gutter and hop down to the street, the man driving the car opens the back driver side door.

 

You barely look at him as you slide into the car.

 

There is a woman in the car completely engrossed in her phone.

 

“Good Evening Detective-“

 

“Where am I being taken and do not lie to me because I am not in the mood for bullshit” you say.

 

“We are taking you to see the man who wants you here,” she says.

 

 _‘Memorize the rout they are taking, remember the elbow is the hardest part of the body. Someone gets close enough, use it’_ Your inner self tells you.

 

You sit in the car without saying a word, just watching the street and signs go by.

 

* * *

 

The car pulls to a stop, in a warehouse.

 

“He is just there,” the woman says.

 

You give her a shifty eyed glance before stepping out of the car.

 

A well-dressed man stood in the headlights, leaning against his umbrella.

 

“Detective Hudson, forgive me for not welcoming you to London personally when you first arrived” he said.

 

“Well, here I am, no time like the present, also, I’d like to know who the fuck you are!” you say crossing your arms over your chest.

 

The man straightens his tie and clears his throat.

 

“Well, indeed forgive me; you see I am a very busy man” You roll your eyes and groan you do not time for this.

 

“Who are you? Why pretty much kidnap me and bring me half way across London only to beat around the bush?”

 

“I am what you would call an interested party, one must be discreet when avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes”

 

_‘Why is he interested in Sherlock?’_

 

“Why are you interested in him?”

 

‘There not friends, by any means, he has that whole James Bond villain thing going’

 

“My name is Mycroft Holmes; I am Sherlock’s elder brother”

 

 _‘Plot Twist!’_ Your inner self screams.

 

_‘Shut up’_

 

“I see, and you are the one who got in touch with my chief and got me here why. . .?”

 

“My brother let’s just say he has a knack for getting himself into trouble,”

 

“Whoa, whoa, wait a sec. Did I just hear you right?! I am a Detective for the NYPD, NOT a babysitter for Sherlock Fucking Holmes!” You shout.

 

Mycroft look unimpressed, he pauses before reaching into his coat and pulling out a small leather bound book.

 

Mycroft no longer holds your attention.

 

Honestly, there was a psychopath out there force-feeding people poison! You did not have time for this! You start to walk away.

 

“Your father Charles Hudson was shot and killed six months ago correct?”

 

You freeze, your stomach flips and your breath catches.

 

 _‘Shut up, shut him up!’_ Your inner self starts to panic.

 

You feel your eyes start to sting with tears.

 

“He was shot and killed during a routine traffic stop, in front of you,”

 

_‘Shut up shut up!!’_

 

The door leading to your memories of your Father starts to creak open.

 

“You were just barely out of the police academy when the incident occurred”

 

Your whole body is on high alert; your heart is going to pop if it beats any faster.

 

You start to shake and feel like the ground is swaying under your feet.

 

* * *

 

_Memories flash before your eyes; one was you as a toddler, hearing the front door of your tiny open bedroom apartment._

 

_You run at top speed away from your babysitter dressed only in your diaper into your fathers awaiting arms._

 

_‘He worked so much, growing up. But he always came home picked us up and swung you around in his arms, pretending he wasn’t exhausted after a twelve hour shift trying to put juice and cheerios on our little plastic table’_

 

_Another series of images assaults your mind._

 

_You close your eyes, and try to shield yourself from the onslaught. It was useless._

 

_The first was High School Graduation._

 

_“That’s my girl,” he said with tears in his eyes._

 

_More images, graduating college at the top of the dean’s list, passing the police exam._

 

_Dad was always smiling._

 

_‘Stop it!’ Your inner self screams._

 

_Your stomach flips and you feel sick as the scene plays out in front of you._

 

_The windows were rolled down; it was oddly hot that day._

 

_“So my baby girl, all grown up and in the police force? I don’t know whether to be proud or vomit from worry,” he said._

 

_“Come on Dad, top marks, top in physical training, I got this” You say._

 

_“Well you do take after me. . Oh god you’re gonna get yourself killed!” he wailed dragging a hand down his face._

 

_You cannot help but laugh._

 

_Suddenly a car speeds past your cruiser and runs a red light._

 

_“Whoa, okay hang on kiddo,” Dad said throwing on the sirens and flooring it to catch up with the speeding car._

 

_The sirens manage to pull the car over, and Dad gets out of the car._

 

_“Okay Kiddo watch your old man at work,” he said._

 

_He walked away and never came back._

 

* * *

 

You collapsed to your knees; tears ran freely down your face.

 

Mycroft came to kneel behind you.

 

“Stay in London, help Sherlock solves cases” Mycroft said, why did he sound so far away?

 

 _‘Where did they go kid?’ What happened here?!’_ The voices of the past echo in your mind.

 

“Our Chief warned him, not to go after him!” you managed to cry out.

 

“The man who shot Charlie, he was a hired hit man, we caught up to him trying to jump a plane to London,” Chief said.

 

“Believe me (F/N) that snake will slither out of his hole soon enough, stay close to Sherlock and he will appear. I promise you.” He said.

 

‘Make him stop,’ Your inner self says, she is curled up on the floor of the Fortress.

 

“I will make sure that you catch him, he is roaming London a free man. You and Sherlock are the only two people who can catch him,” Mycroft says.

 

With those words, something clicked inside you. You look over your shoulder at him, the ground becomes hard again under your feet, Mycroft offers his hand and he helps you to your feet. Slowly, a spark strikes in your heart and the flame from it consumes your whole body.

 

“I will make sure you catch James Moriarty”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look a thing!

You sat in the back of Mycroft’s Bond Villain car curled up in a tight ball. You had not said a word since Mycroft helped you in and sent you on your way.

The world around you seemed to be moving in slow motion as you looked through your tear-swollen eyes.

 

_‘We haven’t cried like that in a long time have we?’_ Your inner self said still laying on the Fortress floor, tear streaks sullying her cheeks as well.

 

Around her, the Fortress was a war zone. Doors scattered across the fortress were left swung wide open, walls cracked and crumbled around her. Memories of your father ran a muck through the fortress and your inner self was powerless to stop them.You did not answer her, you had no strength to, your head pounded and everything hurt.

 

_‘We need rest, you know’_ Your inner self said trying to bring you out of your depressed state.

 

_‘We will rest when this poison business is over’_ You argue.

 

_‘We need sleep’_

“Leave me alone,” You say aloud.

 

“I didn’t say anything Miss,” Phone girl said.

 

“I wasn’t talking to you,” You snap.

 

The car pulls to a stop and you step out. The sudden cold London air hits you like a bus, your brain feels like its thumping around in your skull. You groan and rub your temples.

 

“What was I thinking about before Mycroft took me?”

 

_‘Winter is coming?’_ Your inner self says as she starts to set the Fortress back in order.

 

“That’s Game of Thrones” you face palm.

 

* * *

 

You almost crawl through the door at Baker St, the first thing that your mind registers is that the boys are not home.

 

_‘Shower first, boys later’_

 

You head into Aunties flat and retrieve your supplies, only to find out that she is already occupying her shower. You whimper in frustration and feel like throwing a fit that would make a two year old jealous.

 

_‘The boys aren’t home why not just use theirs?’_

 

‘ _Showers take too long; they would be home before I was done. I’ll be damned if Sherlock Holmes sees me naked’_

_‘We have knots forming in our back; our head is hurting because tension is forming in our neck causing blood to flow slowly. That makes is harder to think’_ Your inner self says, you sigh; she makes a good point.

 

_‘That, and we are starting to smell’_

You climb the steps and quickly locate the bathroom, soon enough your old clothes lay discarded on the floor and the hot water was running down your body. You sigh as your neck and back begin to loosen up. You sway your head from side to side and feel your neck pop pleasantly.

 

‘ _There, let the hot water flow and ease everything,’_ Your inner self said.

 

You grab your mint fragrance shampoo and lather it into your hair. Your mind wanders as the smell fills the enclosed space of the shower. You lean your head back and let the suds drain from your hair.

 

_‘All the victims did have something in common you know,’_ Your inner self says from her own bathtub (complete with bubbles and rubber ducky).

 

_‘Yeah, I know. One was coming home from a trip, one too drunk to drive, one stuck in the rain, and Jennifer was coming from Cardiff’_

You run your hands through your clean hair and shut the water off, you step out of the shower and as soon as your foot lands on the mat, the bathroom door swings open. Your eyes slowly drift up to see Sherlock standing there, staring at you. In all your naked glory.

 

If a hole had opened up, and ate you in that very second, it couldn’t have happened soon enough. Sherlock says nothing; he only stares at you from the doorway.

 

“W-what are you looking at?” you stammer.

 

“Why are you using my shower?” he simply asks.

 

“Get out!” you shout trying to wrench the towel off the rack.

 

The towel finally came loose from the rack and you quickly wrap up, Sherlock almost seems disappointed, as he is visually struck by the sight before him.

 

“You didn’t answer the question, why are you using my shower?” he asked again.

 

“Auntie was using hers and I needed a shower, you both weren’t home I saw no harm in it, now please leave!” you say trying to get him to vacate and let you die from embarrassment in peace.

 

“I found her suitcase,” he says plainly before stepping back out and closing the door behind him.

 

You breathe a small sigh of relief as you hear him walk away; you drop your towel, dress in your favorite tank top, and sweat pants.

 

_‘He, he saw me naked, he just barged in and saw all of me!’_ You panicked.

 

_‘It’s like we’re married!’_ Your inner self shouted as she flailed around on the floor.

 

_‘Lord,’_ You face palm.

 

You walk out and look around the living room, sure enough the case is there and it is indeed pink.

 

“Where did you find it?” You ask before going through the case.

 

Sherlock completely ignores you and looks to John.

 

“John, on my desk there is a number I need you to send a text” Sherlock said.

 

You stare daggers into his back, as John grumbles some colorful words as he reaches for the number. He looks at it for a moment before looking back at Sherlock.

 

“Jennifer Wilson, wait isn’t that the dead woman’s name?” John asked.

 

You look at Sherlock and then back to John.

 

“Yes, have you entered the number?” Sherlock asked getting impatient.

 

“Yes, what do you want me to say” John asks.

 

Sherlock gives him his instructions.

 

_‘Why would he want to know where her phone is? It’s not in the case and it wasn’t on her body, she had men lining up at the door, she would not have just left her phone somewhere’_ You muse as you walk into the kitchen, it was going to be a long night and you needed coffee to keep the exhaustion at bay.

 

“She was careful she would not have just left her phone at home or out of her sight for that matter” You comment from the kitchen.

 

“She would have had it on her when she died, that would mean that the killer has it on him,”

 

John looked from you to Sherlock and back to you before looking at his phone.

 

“Wait-wait did I just text a murderer?” he asks horrified.

 

“And the last horse crosses the finish line ladies and gentlemen!” you say coming back into the living room.

 

John glares at you, and you give him a shrug. John was about to say something, the only thing stopping him was his phone ringing.

 

“Unknown Number,” he says his face draining of all color.

 

_‘So he does still have it,’_ Your inner self says from her desk.

 

“Now, we find the phone, we find our killer” Sherlock says taking a seat in his chair.

 

“But that still leaves Racheal; we still don’t know who she is” You say before taking a sip of your coffee.

 

* * *

 

 

Eight cups of coffee later, your eyes feel like they haven’t blinked in the past three hours. The caffeine rush is the only thing keeping you in the realm of the living. You stare at the police databanks you have pulled up on your lap top. So far nothing has popped out at you as remotely helpful to the case.

 

“You need sleep,” John said from his chair as he typed away at his blog.

 

“I’ll sleep when that psycho is locked up and awaiting trial” You say rubbing your face trying to shake the exhaustion.

 

“(Y/N) please, just a nap then?” John almost begged.

 

Sherlock sits in his chair his fingers making a pyramid that he pressed to his lips, his eyes closed clearly in deep thought.

 

You stare at him a bit, your mind feels like it’s slowing down. It feels more at ease, it feels easier to think.

 

“Who could she be?” You ask out loud.

 

“Who?” John asks looking up from his typing.

 

“Racheal, was she one of the lovers or what? I don’t get it,” You say throwing an arm over your eyes. You sigh and feel like you can’t think anymore.

 

You hear John groan and pop his back, he excuses himself to his room for some rest.

 

“Goodnight John” You say without removing your arm.

 

The weight of fatigue presses down on you, you don’t know how much longer you can go on. For the sake of your health and mental state you had to wrap up this case and soon.

 

You sit up your body protesting you the whole way, once up, your head pounded something god awful. You lean forward, now of all times your caffeine rush decides to crash and burn!

 

You groan as you catch your head in your hands.

 

You look up to meet Sherlock’s eyes from across the room. They are steely and cold, yet there is a warmth in them deep down. Seconds, then minutes pass without you breaking eye contact with him. You feel your mind buzzing with thoughts of the case and now thoughts of him.

 

_‘He is beautiful, clever, and a complete jackass. But damn he is- just . . . fuck!’_ Your inner-self says.

 

_‘Yeah’_ Exhaustion must really be playing on you, now you’re agreeing with your inner-self on Sherlock’s attractiveness.

 

You feel your skin prickle with some kind of feeling you can’t really explain. He blinks you blink, you see his chest raising and falling, your breathing is even the same. After what seems like a silent eternity he speaks.

 

“Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?” Sherlock’s deep voice reaches you.

 

“Who do we trust, even though we don’t know them?” You answer.

 

“Who passes unnoticed wherever they go?” Sherlock asks.

 

You start to feel that tingle again, like your standing in a lightning storm with a golf club above your head. Everything seems to slowly begin to fall into place.

 

“A man coming home from a business trip, in a hurry to see his lover” Sherlock says.

 

“He wouldn’t want to rent a car, the process alone is to long” You say taking a sip of your now cold coffee, your face scrunches up and you put the cup back down. Sherlock smirks at you from behind his hands.

 

“The second was caught in the rain, walking back to get his umbrella” Sherlock says.

 

“Why would anyone in their right mind want to walk anywhere in the rain?”

 

“The third was to intoxicated to drive on her own, her friends admitted to taking her car keys”

 

“She would have needed a DD”

 

“And the last,”

 

“Was coming into town from far away, in the rain” You finish.

 

Oh, the tingle began to spread into a full on buzzing on your skin. The hair on the back of your neck and arms stands up. Sherlock unfolds his hands and leans forward more, he looks delicious.

 

“Then our murderer is?” Sherlock asked a small smirk spreading across his face.

 

And then lightning strikes.

 

“A cab driver” you say the same small victory smirk spreads across your face.

 

“Exactly” he says.

 

Your moment of victory is cut short by feet stomping up the stairs. Seconds later a flustered looking Lestrade appears through the doorway.

 

“We found Racheal”

 

“We know who killed these people” You say holding up the investigation file.

 

“Great! Who?” Lestrade asked hope filling his eyes.

 

“A cabbie” Sherlock said from his chair.

 

 

 

“Fantastic! Give me a name and I’ll have them in interrogation before breakfast!” Lestrade said as his face lit up.

 

You look over to Sherlock who locks eyes with you, then back to Lestrade.

 

“We don’t know that, Christ, Lestrade we’re not psychic” You say before laying on your back throwing your legs over the couch arm.

 

Lestrade’s shoulders slump in defeat.

 

While the Inspector mopes you get up and swoop down on the file in his hands. Snatching it quickly you make bare footed tracks to the kitchen.

 

You pop open the file and start to read. You barely have time to read the first few sentences before you feel heat against your back. A slim arm comes from behind you to rest on the counter. Trapping you between the counter and the spreading warmth being pushed against your back.

 

“What are you doing?” You ask Sherlock.

 

“Reading,”

 

“And you need to be this close to me to read?”

 

“You ran off with the file before I had a chance to look at it”

 

You feel your heart begin to race in your chest as Sherlock leans in further to read over your shoulder.

 

You peer into your Fortress, maybe your inner self would have some advice for your current situation.

 

At the moment she was having a stroke on the floor.

 

_‘Useless’_

You try to ignore the growing heat spreading over your back and strain to make sense of the words laid out before you.

 

“Racheal was her daughter, she was a still born,” You say feeling your stomach falter a bit.

 

You complete the file when you feel Sherlock reach under your arm leaning more into you and pressing you harder into the counter.

 

“Racheal was her daughter, why in there time of dying would anyone think of the dead?” he asked with a deadpan tone.

 

“Wow Sherlock,” You say pushing against him to free yourself from your prison, much to the displeasure of your inner self.

 

“Not good?” he asked raising a delicate eyebrow.

 

“No, no not really” you say dumping out the cold coffee and refreshing your cup.

 

“Well, then say you lost a loved one, what would be your big dramatic line?” he asked.

 

Oh. Oh, he went there. He went there, bought a T-shirt, and came back.

 

The words fail you as the images of your father bleeding out in your arms come back for the second time that night.

 

Sherlock is silent, almost sensing your hesitation. He looks down at your hand and brushes his knuckles against yours. An apology?

 

Bam! Sparks dance up your arm and ignite your brain.

 

“Racheal’s a password” you say pushing past Sherlock.

 

You jump over furniture and shove anyone out of your way to get back to your lap top. Lestrade had made the mistake of taking your spot of the couch. He now was pushing himself off the floor.

 

“Check her luggage, is there a tag? It should have her information on it, in case it was lost during transit” You say before logging into the London Police database.

 

Your fingers fly over the keys, you feel the eyes of the others on you as you work.

 

“What are you planning (F/N)?” Lestrade asks.

 

“Shut up, let her work” Sherlock says not taking his eyes off you.

 

“Sherlock and I found out that our killer still has Jennifer’s phone. Racheal is her daughter’s name. Her name is a password” You say with your eyes not leaving your computer screen.

 

Sherlock leans against the doorframe and watches you work, a small proud smirk spreading across his face.

 

“I’m logging into her cell phones GPS, okay its locating. We should know where it is”

 

The scan runs for a few seconds before it pings letting the whole room know that the phone is in 221B Baker Street.

 

“Uh. . .?”

 

_‘The call is coming from inside the house, have you checked the children?’_ Your inner self chimed in quoting a horror movie.

 

“Shut up”

 

“I didn’t say anything,” Lestrade argued.

 

“Not you”

 

You run the scan again, once again it pings back saying that the phone is in the flat.

 

“Okay we are looking for a mobile phone,” Lestrade says as he gets up and starts looking around.

 

_’That’s not right, something is amiss here, but what?’_

You are so deep in your thoughts that you don’t notice Auntie coming up the stairs.

 

“Sherlock, dear there’s a man downstairs says your cab has arrived” she said meekly.

 

Sherlock gives her an odd look. Before noticing a figure just behind her.

 

He then looks past, his eye’s train on this mysterious person. The man, given his shape, then removes a pink phone from his jackets pocket.

 

Sherlock silently grabs his coat and follows him out without another word.

 

* * *

 

“Damn it, damn it fuck, fuck! Fucking shit! Of all the moronic, asinine, selfish-!” You cursed.

 

Two minutes, you took your eyes off of Sherlock for two fucking minutes and then he goes and gets into a killers cab!

 

Auntie had come forth back at the flat when a panic had arisen that Sherlock had gone missing. She said that a man had come, telling her that Sherlock had ordered a cab to come pick him up. Not knowing any better, Auntie had let him in and went to retrieve Sherlock.

 

Now you were riding with Lestrade down the street with no sirens, seeing as you didn’t want to alert the killer to your approach and make them jumpy. God knows what he was capable of.

 

Thankfully the cabbie hadn’t ditched the phone yet so your best bet now was that he still had it. You find the phone, you catch the killer, and find Sherlock, hopefully unharmed.

 

Lestrade pulled into the local college, you hopped out of the car, and pulled your gun from its holster.

 

 

 

“Lestrade, check the other building. We’ll find them faster if we spilt up. There’s the cab, so they have to be inside” You say going into full cop mode.

 

“Why would they be here?” he asks pulling his gun out too.

 

“It’s late, and quiet. The janitors would be cleaning at this time of night”

 

_‘Thing is with people who drive around at all hours of the night, they know where the perfect places for a murder would be’ Your_ inner self says.

 

 

* * *

 

Inside the college it was pitch black and the atmosphere seemed like something straight out of a horror flick.

 

_‘Why would a cab driver suddenly start killing people?’_

_‘I’m not sure, first we find Sherlock and shove my foot down his throat for doing something so damn reckless. Then we beat the answer out of him because you and I both know that he is talking up the killer right now’_

You step as carefully as possible through the hall, your bare feet tip toed down the tiled floor. You ran out of the flat so fast when you realized Sherlock was gone you left your shoes and coat behind.

 

You freeze and raise your gun when you hear a door open, you wait a few seconds and hear a faint voice at the end of the hall, then the door shuts.

 

_‘That has to be them’_

 

You quicken the pace but not enough to be noticed from inside the classroom. You reach the door where a light is shining through the small window. You peak in just as Sherlock is about to put what looks like a pill in his mouth.

 

You open the door and train your gun on the only other person in the room. The cabbie turns to you and points a gun at you. Instinct takes over and you pull your trigger before he has time to fully raise his weapon.

 

The loud bang rips through the room, and the cabbie collapses on the floor clutching at his chest where your bullet ripped into him.

 

He screams and rolls around in pain, you exhale the breath you didn’t realize you were holding as you meet eyes with Sherlock. He seems to be a tad startled, but in one piece.

 

_‘He damn well better be after the shit he’s pulled tonight’_

He says nothing but only runs to the man on the floor, you reach into your sweat pants pocket and retrieve your cell phone. As you punch in Lestrade’s number you hear Sherlock speak.

 

“You’re dying, she shot you in the lung, it’s filling up with blood as we speak, but there is still time to hurt you, a name. Give me a name!”

 

The cabbie shakes his head, you watch in silence as your phone tries reaching Lestrade.

 

You watch as Sherlock steps on the wounded man’s chest, he gasps in pain before Sherlock asks again for a name. The cabbie shakes in head again and Sherlock only presses harder.

 

“A Name! NOW!” he shouts.

 

_‘The fuck is he doing?’_ You ask yourself.

 

“The Name!” Sherlock shouts a final time.

 

The cabbie give out a pained yelp before a name that will forever haunt you comes ripping out of his throat.

 

“Moriarty!”

 

Your world freezes, your breath catches in your lungs. Your gaze slowly goes to the dying man on the floor bleeding out. Before you know it you are on top of him shaking him by the neck of his cardigan.

 

“Where is he?!” You shout shaking him so hard his head bounces off the floor.

 

“You tell me where that bastard is now!” his eyes start to drift shut and you start to panic. Your only lead, your only hope of find your father’s murderer is slipping away because of your bullet.

 

You have to keep him alive, just long enough to get some answers!

 

“Oh no you don’t! You tell me where he is! You tell me before you die you son of a bitch!”

 

You feel Sherlock staring at you but you don’t care. You can’t let him die, not until you know what he knows.

 

The cabbies eyes close and his chest deflates for the last time.

 

“No! No you bastard! You tell me! You tell me where Moriarty is!” You scream before you start punching him hard in the face out of desperation.

 

You hear Sherlock shouting your name but you don’t care, the room could have caught fire at that very moment and you wouldn’t have cared.

 

Suddenly strong arms wrap around you and rip you away from the body.

 

“No! No put me down! Let me go! I have to know!” You scream and kick.

 

Sherlock’s hold is too tight for you and soon all the fight in you leaves as soon as it came.

 

He turns you to look at him.

 

Those eyes, damn those eyes and the man they belong to.

 

He stares at you wide eyed and concerned. Was that really concern you saw staring back at you?

 

You feel hot tears run down your face, he runs a cool thumb across your cheek to remove them.

 

“He, he killed my dad. Moriarty, he sent a hit man after him. He shot him right in front of me” you whimper.

 

More tears run down your face and Sherlock does the unthinkable.

 

He pulls you into his arms and holds you there.

 

 

Your heart feels like it is about to burst, but you don’t care. There, in Sherlock’s arms, does sleep finally find you.

 

As your world, after long last goes black, you hear your father’s voice,

 

_‘Don’t worry kiddo, sharks always come to the sound to the suffering of smaller fish’_

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I can not apologize enough for how late this update is. Most of you don't know that I am a full time student, and i work full time as well. I got this chapter typed out when I found the time. But I'm not sure when the next is coming because I'm starting to work on my final paper and history finals. I promise guys the next chapter will be a big leap forward.

 

You and Sherlock walked out of the college, Sherlock’s arm was around you, he was the only thing keeping you up. Your eyes were on the ground; they were barely able to stay open. For once your inner-self was silent. She was dead asleep in the center of the Fortress. You stumbled over the steps as the cold night air of London hit you.

 

“Easy now, (Y/N),” Sherlock’s unfathomable voice said as he tightened his grip on you.

 

“I want to sleep” you say as you are trying hard not to let anymore tears escape your burning eyes.

 

“I know, just stay awake a bit longer and we will be home soon” he said.

 

“Sherlock!” you heard Lestrade and John approach.

 

“My god, what’s happened?!” Lestrade shouted.

 

“In one of the labs, Lestrade, you’ll find your man on the floor, dead”

 

“What?”

 

“The murderer is dead, in the lab on the third floor, the murderer was a cabbie, he is dead. (Y/N) shot him”

 

“Y-yeah, alright”, Greg says before he takes out his phone and calls it in.

 

You feel your legs begin to shake, the tell-tale sign of them about to give out from under you.

You whimper, Sherlock thinking quickly picks you up and holds you close.

The ambulance arrives, and so does Anderson and Donavan. Fan-fucking-tastic.

You groan and nuzzle further into Sherlock’s shoulder when you see them coming your way.

 

“I know (Y/N), the I.Q of the whole street just dropped about thirty points” he whispered into your ear.

 

You couldn’t help a weak laugh.

Sherlock stood up and plopped you in the back of the ambulance.

They checked you for shock and your vitals. Sherlock stayed close to you watching as you sway on the gurney.

 

“Hello, little brother” Mycroft said, as he walked up.

 

Your eyes open up enough to see the grimace form on Sherlock’s face, as Mycroft walks past him and toward you. You look up as he placed his gloved hands on your face to look you over.

 

“Are you hurt (Y/N)?”

 

You shake your head too tired to speak, you almost fall asleep while he holds your head up.

 

“Mycroft,” Sherlock warns.

 

You watch as the elder brother lets go of your head, and walks off with Sherlock. You feel your eyes close and your head slump.

 

“Ma’am, please stay awake, we need to get fluids in you. You are extremely dehydrated. When was the last time you slept?” the paramedic asked.

 

_‘He is speaking words, I know that much’_ Oh good, your inner-self was talking again.

 

“Not since I got here” you say weakly.

 

“Good god (Y/N), that was five days ago!” Lestrade said running over to you.

 

“Really? Damn, three days short of a new record!” You say with a weak laugh.

 

“Three da-, woman are you out of your mind?!” Lestrade shouted.

 

You ignore Lestrade’s pestering, as Sherlock advances back toward you. He doesn’t look happy.

 

He grabs your hand and almost rips you out of the back of the ambulance.

 

‘ _He’s mad, why is he mad? Didn’t we just save his life and have a moment? Like, seriously all of that happened not even an hour ago!’_

Sherlock hauled you into a cab while John trailed behind.

 

“You’re working for Mycroft? Why didn’t you tell me?” Sherlock asked, fury burning behind his ice blue eyes.

 

“I didn’t know I was working for him till tonight? Yesterday? I-it’s all b-blurred together” You say feeling the exhaustion finally taking you into the world of sweet post-case coma.

 

Sherlock leaned back in his seat, clearly somewhat satisfied with your answer.

 

John, on the other hand, was fretting about you like a mother hen.

 

“(Y/N), look at me please, open your mouth.”

 

You look at John, he blurs in and out of focus, but you do as you are told.

 

“Your tongue is swollen; you’re dehydrated, badly” he said.

 

You just chuckle. John stares at you, completely at a loss.

 

“Dehydration, been there done that” You laugh weakly, your eyes drifting shut.

 

“Wh-“ John stammers.

 

“Haven’t you noticed, John? When Sherlock is on a case he won’t eat, won’t sleep, and goes through at least, what? A case or two of the bulk nicotine patches? Skipping a meal or three and drinking nothing but coffee helps me get through cases”

 

John gapes at you and you see Sherlock smirk out of the corner of your eye.

 

“And now gentleman, I bid you goodnight” you say before your head makes a slight thump against the head rest of your seat.

 

 

“Sher-? What just happened?” John asked looking over to Sherlock and then back to your sleeping form.

 

“She passed out, I do something rather similar when a case is done”

 

“I-oh Jesus, alright fine” John says clearly giving up on the both of you.

 

The cabbie pulled up to 221B and John stepped out, getting the door.

 

Sherlock stepped out of the cab with you in his arms.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_‘What happened to Charlie, kid!? Talk to me!’_

_’10-13, 10-13, officer down, I repeat officer down. Gunshot wound to the chest. Someone get (Y/N) out of here!’_

_‘Daddy, I want to be a police officer just like you when I grow up!’_

_‘Where is he? Where is Moriarty?!’_

_‘I’ll help you catch that snake, I’ll help you catch James Moriarty’_

_‘I love you sweetie, always know, Daddy loves you’_

_‘Moriarty. . . Moriarty. . . Moriarty!’_

 

* * *

 

You awoke with jerk and a sharp intake of breath. You sit up and the blanket Auntie covered you with slumps from your chest. You sigh and rub your face, trying to shake the dream away. You pop your neck and stand up. You have been sleeping for almost three days after the cabbie case was closed, only getting up for the bathroom and small cups of water. You stomach growls and your feel positively ravenous. You shower and dress in some comfortable sweats, before looking for food. The flat is quite, blessedly quite.

 

_‘Sherlock isn’t making much of a fuss’_ Your inner-self said, still snoozing in her glorious four poster bed with thick Victorian curtains.

 

“Thank Christ!”

 

You head to the kitchen, your bare feet padding over the hard wood floors. You reach the kitchen and rummage through the fridge and rummage till you find fresh bacon and eggs. Your mouth waters and your stomach growls again already thinking about the hearty breakfast about to fill it. You smile to yourself and pull out the ingredients, you also spot some cheese and veggies.

 

“Oh, I’m thinking a Grand Slam Omelet!” You sing as you bounce happily.

You search the cabinets for a pan, and a bowl. Mission Accomplished.

You crack three large eggs and start to whisk them together with the various veggies after cutting them into bite sizes pieces. You dance around positively on cloud nine with the thought of a hearty breakfast filling your otherwise empty tummy. Your mouth waters as your mind wanders over to the soft fluffy eggs, incasing the crunchy veggies and the crispy bacon.

 

_‘I think I just popped a boner’_ Your inner-self says from the desk.

 

“I know right”

 

You reach for the salt and pepper to add to the mix when you freeze mid reach. You saw something move to behind the egg carton. You feel a glacial chill run down your spine as you reach to move the carton.

 

_‘The hell are you doing?! If this were a horror movie we would be dead because your stupid ass is reaching for the very thing that is going to KILL us!’_

 

You ignore her, and slowly move the carton out of the way.

 

“OH, FUCK NO!” You and your inner-self scream when you see the rather large house spider sitting behind the eggs.

 

You make a panicked screech and scramble up the fridge, screaming all the way!

 

“NOPE NOPE NOPE!! Homie Don’t Play!” You shout erratically as you try to squeeze as tightly against the wall as you can.

 

“Sherlock!” You shout, you wait a moment and hear nothing from upstairs.

 

“SHERLOCK!!” You scream, still nothing!

 

“Sher-oh for fucks sake!” You give up and change tactics.

 

“John! John, help!”

 

You finally hear movement upstairs. With help on the way you glance down to where the devil spawn was, and . . .

 

_‘SWEET CHRIST ON A CRACKER! WHERE’D IT GO!!??’_

 

“JOHN, FOR GOD’s SAKE!!” You scream, your voice going miserably hoarse.

 

John finally comes scrambling down the stairs. One look at him and you suddenly feel awful for your display. He is sopping wet and only dressed in a towel.

 

“(Y/N)?! What is it!? Where are you?” he asked looking around franticly.

 

“Up here” You squeak from atop the fridge.

 

John looks up and gives you a weird look.

 

“(Y/N) wh- what on earth are you doing up there?” he asked while tying his towel around his waist.

 

“John, over there by the eggs, that’s where I saw it last”

 

John looks over the counter and then back up at you, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders. You feel frustration grow, was John truly this clueless?!

 

John reached for the eggs and slid the carton out of the way seeing nothing behind them.

 

You whimpered and squeezed tighter to the wall.

 

“I don’t understand (Y/N), what am I meant to be looking for?”

 

“The Spider, John!” You yell down at him.

 

“A spider? Really (Y/N)? Come now, it is probably just a small house spider. He is more- “

 

“Watson, if you say it is more afraid of me then I am of it, I will punch you in the throat”

 

John took your warning in earnest and raised his hands in surrender.

 

“Alright, I’ll go find a shoe” he said before slipping out of the kitchen.

 

“Take your time, but hurry up! - - And make sure it has a thick sole, I don’t want this eight legged bastard limping away from this!” You shout up after your friend.

 

Your words were greeted by silence, you sighed and contemplated your life till this shining moment. Trapped on top of your aunt’s fridge, waiting for John to rescue you with a shoe. How was this possibly your life?!

 

_‘He is so off the Christmas card list’_

 

“We don’t have a card list”

 

_‘Well, I was thinking about making one!’_

 

You peek over the edge of your perch, still no sign of the eight-legged hell spawn.

 

“Damn Shelob spawn” You curse.

 

What in the hell was taking John so long?! Was he making a shoe?!

 

You feel the hairs on your arms and the back of your neck stand on end, you feel the need to peek over the side one more time. You lean over and take a peek and-

 

“JOOOOHN!!” You shriek so loud your voice breaks.

 

At some point the little bastard had moved from its hiding spot and was now scaling the side of the fridge!

 

“JOHN! FOR GOD’S SAKE!”

 

You hear him rushing down the stairs again and soon he reappears in the door way, dressed and ready for combat.

 

“Thank God! Jesus man, were you making a shoe!?”

“I’m sorry (Y/N), I got a call from Lestrade,” John started.

 

“Hell no, I’m not going on a case till that fucker is dead!” You argue, pointing at the last place you saw the eight legged abomination.

 

“What? Oh- no, no it wasn’t about case, he called to ask if everything was alright. Apparently someone called Scotland Yard with reports of a woman screaming coming from 221 Baker St” he said with a smirk.

 

You feel red creeping up your neck.

 

“Oh, well. Good to know the neighbors are on their toes” You say, wishing a hole would open up and swallow you whole.

 

John at long last finds the eight legged behemoth that some sick bastards keep as pets. Who even does that?! Serial Killers, that’s who!

 

John lines up the shot with his heavy soled shoe and brings his hand back for the swing.

 

“Get it in one shot Watson, don’t just piss him off” You comment.

 

“It’s a spider (Y/N), not a machete wielding psycho in a hockey mask” John remarks.

 

“I’d rather tackle the psycho”

 

John makes a swift swing, the loud smack echoes throughout the flat. Just as your nightmare began, it ended, with shoe justice.

 

The corpse falls to the floor and John collects it into a tissue and disposes of it in the trash. When the coast is clear you shimmy down from the fridge and throw your arms around Johns neck.

 

“I was so scared!!” You wail into his neck.

 

“There, there (Y/N). It’s alright, the big bad monster is gone now” John says between small chuckles.

 

“That thing was huge John, did you see it?! I bet if I go back far enough I can trace its family all the way back to Shelob herself!”

 

You break away from John to see him giving you a questioning look.

 

“What on earth is a ‘Shelob’?” John asks.

 

“. . . “

“. . . . . . . . .”

 

‘How does he not know?’ Your inner-self asks.

 

“You don’t know who Shelob is?”

 

John shakes his head at you, still giving you the clueless puppy look.

 

“The giant spider that guards Torech Ungol? The short cut between Minus Morgal to Mordor?”

 

John only answers with more questioning looks, you feel your inner-self start to have a stroke.

 

‘ _Educate him!’_

 

“John. One ring to rule them all. One Ring to find them. One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness— “You trail off hoping John will catch on to what you are saying to him.

 

“Uh---“John said with a dumb puppy look.

 

“Oh. Oh my god, okay John don’t worry. I’m going to help you” You say, starting to dash about the kitchen quickly cleaning up your breakfast mess.

 

“(Y/N) what are you talking about?” John asks watching you race around the flat.

 

“No time to explain now John, grab a coat and hail a cab, I’ll meet you outside in a sec!”

 

John, finally at a loss for words gave up and went upstairs to fetch his coat.

 

‘ _How does he not know the One Ring incantation?!”_

_‘I don’t know, don’t worry. I’m going to show him’_

_‘You best’_

“(Y/N)? I’m ready, and the cab is here” John says from just outside.

 

You join him outside and climb into the awaiting cab.

 

“The nearest grocery store, please” You instruct the elderly cab driver.

 

You pause just for a moment when he turns toward you. Just for a moment you think back to the Pink Lady. You think back to the old cab driver, how he only really did what he did for his kids. But, Moriarty took a cause and turned it to mindless killing.

 

You sighed and sat back as the cab began to pull away from the curb. Little did you know, that Sherlock was watching from the window as you and John rode away.

 

“Hmm,” he grumbled.

 

 

* * *

 

“Junk Food”

 

That was all you said to John as he picked up a basket as you entered the store before you ran off to parts unknown.

 

‘ _Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking, seeing as I’m in your mind of course your thinking what I’m thinking because we are normally thinking the same thing the other is thinking, wow I’m dizzy’_ Your inner-self said.

 

“Don’t hurt yourself”

 

You walk around the market till you come across some good looking ground meat and some shredded chicken. You snatch them both up and keep looking around. You then find the dairy section, and pick out some nice cheese.

 

“Sweet”

_‘Sweet’_

 

You look around and find John browsing around.

 

“Hey John hold on to these for me” You say before dropping the items into the basket.

 

“(Y/N) please tell me what we are shopping for and I can help”

 

“Totchos, John, Totchos. Find some chips, okay?” You say before bouncing off again.

 

You look around a bit more before coming across some shredded lettuce and tomatoes. So far so good. With the veggies in tow you find the freezer section and search for tater tots. You find a good sized bag and add that to your arms. Your phone pings in your pocket. It’s a message from John.

 

_“What kind of chips?”_

You smile and bite your bottom lip, you take a quick look around, the store isn’t that big and John can’t be far off. You can’t resist.

 

“I’M ALWAYS A SLUT FOR DORITOS!!” You shout.

 

All at once the store comes to a stop and is completely quite for a few moments before it picks back up again.

 

Your phone pings again and you look to see another message from John.

 

“ _REALLY?!”_

You snicker to yourself before grabbing some drinks and meeting back up with John.

 

 

* * *

 

You make it back to the flat with arms full of food and a very confused John in tow.

 

“(Y/n), please tell me what is going on” John said as you make the trek up to their flat.

 

“Fat Day, John, seeing as you don’t know who Shelob or the One Ring incantation. We are going to make some Totchos and sit in front of the TV and watch a Tolkien Marathon” You say as you start to unpack your haul.

 

“What are we making exactly?” John askes.

 

“Totchos, John. Please keep up”

 

“Is that some kind of weird American food?”

 

“Damn straight”

 

“Care to explain?”

 

“Well, they are like Nachos, but instead of chips you use tater tots. It’s a Fat Day favorite, trust me”

 

“And what is ‘Fat Day’ exactly”

 

You pause for a second.

 

“Fat Day was my dad’s idea, he – he tended to over work himself, when he was working cases back in New York. When the case was solved and over with, Chief would give him time off so he could recoup. He—he would pull me out of school for a day and we would make some kind of fattening food and just veg out in front of the TV for a whole day” You say feeling a stinging sensation in your heart.

 

“I’m sorry (Y/n), I shouldn’t have asked” John said remorsefully.

 

“No, no, John its fine” You say sending him a smile.

 

Watson merely smiles back and gets back to helping you cook.

 

 

* * *

 

You look over your master piece as it steams on its plate. John is even somewhat speechless. With a base of crunchy tater tots and in the middle a mix of taco seasoned beef and chicken, topped with a gooey cheese sauce, and then to top it all off was the crisp lettuce and tomatoes and then a crown of cold sour cream.

 

“Well?”

 

“That actually looks very good” John admits.

 

“Fuck yeah it does” You say before dishing it out.

 

You separate it into three portions one for you, John, and Sherlock. You peek into the living room where he has been sitting the whole time, possibly even before the spider incident of this morning. You set a plate in front of him and a cup of tea, because what else?

 

You grab your plate and a drink and make a spot in front of the TV before running down to grab the DVD’s and returning upstairs.

 

“So, what are we watching? I’m not very familiar with Tolkien’s works” John says from his spot.

 

“We are starting with, An Unexpected Journey and we are not stopping till the end credits of Return of the King” You say as you pop the first DVD of The Hobbit into the player and bounce back to your seat.

 

“How long will that take?” John asks.

 

“Roughly Jacksons work on both Trilogies run from 2 to 3 hours per movie”

 

You both look over to Sherlock who remains in his meditative state, if his voice had not chimed in you would almost forget he was there.

 

“2 to 3 hours?!”

 

“Relax John, they go by quick”

 

_“My Dear Frodo, you once asked me about my Adventures. . . ‘_

 

 

 

* * *

 

“I really like that Bilbo fellow” John commented through bites of his Totchos.

 

“I knew you would” You agreed.

 

“That Thorin though, I’m not sure about him” John says.

 

“He is a good guy; his heart is in the right place. I mean, can you imagine having your home taken from you, your father and Grandfather both KIA and now he is the only male heir of age to be King of Erebor”

 

John was silent as he sat in thought and continued to watch the movie.

 

* * *

 

“Oh no!” John shouted as Azog’s mace hit Thorin across the face, knocking him down.

 

“Get up Thorin!”

 

You couldn’t believe it; John was shouting at the TV. This was to precious.

 

As the climax of the first movie was reaching its height John was completely intrigued.

 

As Bilbo ran into the heat of the fight, John cheered and was almost bouncing in his seat. You giggled at his enthusiasm. You had to admit, for the first time in a long time, you were having fun.

 

_‘I’ve never been so wrong in all my life’_

“Aww, favorite part in the whole movie!” You flail with tears in your eyes.

 

“I’m glad Thorin came around,” John said.

 

“They are too cute together” You say, still holding back tears.

 

“They end up together, right?” John asks.

 

“. . . sure” You say, not wanting to spoil the ending for him.

 

* * *

 

“THORIN NO!! FILI AND KILI TOO!?!?!” John shouted at the TV in complete shock.

 

You were biting into a pillow holding back screams as you watched Thorin fall in the climax of The Battle of Five Armies.

 

“You’re a complete sod, Thorin! There was enough bloody gold to rebuild Dale a thousand times!” John shouted.

 

“I know right!” You shouted as you rocked back and forth on the couch, still clutching your pillow for dear life.

 

As the end credits began to roll, you looked over at Sherlock who had barely moved. But you see something, in his eyes.

 

_‘oh my god. Are—his eyes are watering!’_

 

You stare at Sherlock in complete shock. He looks over and locks eyes with you. You feel your skin prickle and the hair on your arms stand on end.

 

_‘Lightning strikes twice’_

You gave him a small smile when you notice his plate is empty from his share of the Totchos, even more to your happiness he returns the small smile.

 

“(Y/n), next movie!” John says shaking you out of your trance.

 

“Alright, alright John!” You say before swapping out the movies.

 

_“I amar prestar aen, the world as changed”_

 

You couldn't help but agree with Galadriel, the world was indeed changing. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soon.

 

You lay there, ears ringing, blood coming out of your nose as you lay face down on the floor of Sherlock’s flat. Smoke was slowly filling your lungs, burning your throat the longer you lay there. You willed your body to move, you got on all fours and crawled.

* * *

Sherlock’s arms wrap around your waist and heave you off the floor. He spins you around and holds you up by your rear. You wrap your arms around Sherlock’s neck and your legs around his waist. He takes the stairs two at a time and deposits you at the bottom.

* * *

_‘What’s wrong with my future husband?’ Your inner self had asked while Sherlock heated up some food Auntie had brought by earlier._

_‘Who cares, he is bringing me stuff and not talking! This is the best day ever!’_

 

* * *

 

“Sherlock?!” called John as he made his way through the doorway.

 

“John you’ll wake her!” Sherlock scolded from his chair giving poor Dr. Watson a seething look.

 

* * *

 

In the middle of the room, sat a pair of shoes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't apologize enough you guys. So much has happened in the past year. I have been very depressed, I have be just having a lot of issues go on in my personal life, and in my educational life. And, as much as it upset me I had to put my writings down. But just know I am always thinking about you guys.


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